


Caramel

by Louffox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Barista Jon, But More Shitpost, Caramel Misuse, Coffeeshop AU, Cute, Fluff and Humor, Funny, I have never been a barista so don't call me out, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, my friends made me do this, no beta we die like men, shitpost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: Jon enjoys being a barista, until someone comes and does something so strange and baffling that it begins to haunt him.Martin never gets his name spelled wrong.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 27
Kudos: 215





	Caramel

**Author's Note:**

> my bro Jack sent me a picture of a sign at a coffee shop saying "These Are Cafe Syrups NOT Hand Sanitizer" and I had a big brain moment

Jon backed into Georgie at the register, then backed into the island with the cup sizes, then into Tim bringing up restock, who hip-checked him back. It was only vast countless repetitions of the same scheme, over and over again, that kept Jon from spilling the mug filled to the brim with foamed milk and espresso.

“Macchiato for Joan!” Georgie called as he put it on the counter beside her, under the corresponding ticket. He snatched the ticket down and into the bin before glancing quickly at the next one.

They worked well together. Jon hadn’t been surprised. Tim had been. When he and Georgie had officially split- having unofficially already been split for a few weeks, their relationship fading with a quiet mutual acceptance- Tim had bluntly asked which of them he was expected to side with. Happily, it hadn’t come to that. Their relationship had always been best as friends. There was some awkwardness, of course, especially when Jon’s friend Melanie had awkwardly asked Jon if he would be pissed if she asked Georgie out, but they contended with it with communication.

Spending time with Tim was excellent for that. The bloke never stopped communicating, and was always happy to communicate for others, if he felt the need, and wasn’t against greasing the wheels with offerings of food and drink.

“Georgie, you haven’t got a break yet,” Tim said over Jon’s head.

“Busy,” she said easily, slipping out from behind the register to check the topping station of syrups, sugars, milks, and lids. “Stir sticks?”

Again, over Jon’s head went a packet of stir sticks.

“I am  _ short _ , not  _ spillproof _ ,” he cried, ducking a moment too late.

“Caramel?”

Jon put both his arms over his head. “Do  _ not _ throw- Tim!”

Tim laughed, having feinted like he was going to throw it, drawing the yelp from Jon. If it was anyone but Tim- or Georgie could get away with it too, he supposed, and probably Sasha, their boss- Jon would’ve been genuinely angry, but even his shout had a laugh in it. The few people waiting for their drinks crinkled their eyes or laughed, and Tim beamed as he stepped up to the register to take the next order. 

They all knew the patrons were more generous with tips when they saw their baristas having a good time. Their mirth was infectious, and even Jon, who had never once been described as ‘mirthful’, had found his place in the cafe. Tim and Georgie drew out his normally brusque and irate manner of socialization into something endearing. And in return, he kept things organized, had memorized the menu immediately upon hire, and had the best eye for going-ons in the shop. Which patrons wanted peace and quiet rather than loud chatter, when a table was left messy, when someone attempted to get an order for an entire table and repeated the requests wrong, what the regulars wanted when they said ‘the regular’, who was trying to steal from the tip jar, who was tipping a flask subtly into a coffee and which of them were fine and which needed to be escorted out.

And he had an uncanny and inexplicable knack for knowing how to spell names, even if they were unique or not typically english or had sixteen different iterations. Tim called it the most useless superpower ever. Georgie called it a cool party trick that he should go to parties to actually use. Sasha made sure he was making enough money to stay and bragged him up to anyone who would listen, and had been trying to convince him to let her start a social media account for it, though he said no and she couldn’t decide if tiktok, instagram, or twitter would showcase it best.

So it was Jon who noticed the person who had been lingering by the door, keeping a polite distance and clearly reading the board of offerings above the counter, step up to order. Tim was bullying Georgie into going to take her break (“It’s not that busy, go on.” “I don’t need a break, I don’t smoke, I’ve said a million-” “Here.” “....ooo-kay, thank you for the orange?” “I’m glad you don’t smoke and you shouldn’t miss breaks because you care for your lungs. Have an orange break.” “...an… orange break?” “Company policy! Take a break! Jon and I have it! Shoo! And actually, it’s a clementine.”) which left Jon to take the person’s order.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Jon waited a moment, then prompted him, “What can I get you?”

“Uh, I’ll have a, uh… chai latte?” He said it like it was a question, which was usually how people spoke the first half dozen times ordering at a cafe. About half of the orders they got were spoken uncertainly. It was horribly adorable, how folk always thought they were being silly or embarrassing or annoying, asking questions and not being sure what they wanted.

And this person was very much that. Uncertain. Not sure. Adorable.

Georgie usually took pity on them and were very gentle.  _ Alright, we can do that! Now this is what a small looks like, a medium, and a large there. And we offer several dairy options, you can pick from the far left on the board. _

Jon didn’t usually run register. It was for the best.

“Size?”

“Uh…. medium?” he said apologetically.

“Milk?”

“Uh.” He scanned the board furiously, freckles disappearing in a blush.

Jon felt bad and tried to channel his inner Georgie. “Right on the far left.” His eyes went right. “No, left.”

“Oh! Sorry, you said- right. Uh… oatmilk?”

“Good choice,” Jon said, trying to help him save some face. “Name?”  _ Polite. _ “Please.”

“Martin.”

“For here or to go?”

“To go.”

Jon rang him up and felt another pang of guilt when he saw his fingers slip twice trying to pull his card from his wallet. He would make sure his chai latte was perfect, he decided, as he wrote his name in his best handwriting on the cup.

Tim noticed him running the register and stepped neatly in front of him, and then Jon wasn’t thinking about Martin anymore, back in the motion of making drinks.

When he put down the chai latte, though, he did call “Martin!” as he did so, where Tim usually would. And gave him a smile when Martin retrieved his drink, trying to end their exchange on a good note so Sasha couldn’t accuse him of bullying customers away.

Martin made eye contact with him, and behind the glasses, his eyes were bright with… something. The skin around them tightened, like he was focusing, and he opened his mouth slightly.

Jon could see the moment his courage failed him and he closed his mouth, breaking eye contact and accepting the drink.

And…. he didn’t  _ think _ he was watching him, just being generally aware of the shop as he always was, checking in on people, things, keeping an eye out. But he didn’t miss what he did next, and if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.

As Martin went to leave and walked past the toppings station, he casually reached out a hand, palm up, thumb opposing, and pressed one of the pumps.

Depositing a handful of caramel into his hand.

Jon made a noise- he must have- but Martin was casually moving away. There was time for Jon to call out and say  _ that isn’t hand sanitizer _ , or  _ do you need a napkin, _ or  _ what the fuck was that _ , but he just watched in bafflement as Martin pushed the door open with his elbow and left the shop. He turned right and disappeared from sight. Taking his perfect medium oatmilk chai latte and his handful of caramel back to his life. Whatever that was. Whatever the life of someone who just- who just- 

Jon couldn’t erase the image of the thick caramel pouring out in a shiny sticky glob into his palm, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He felt like he’d seen a murder, or a streaker, or an actual living breathing unicorn.

“Jon?” He turned mutely to face Tim. “You alright, man?”

“I.” Jon looked back at the door, at the cafe, where everything was as it should be, despite the absolutely insane thing Jon just saw happen. “Fine.”

“You don’t get an orange till you quit smoking.”

“I don’t want an orange, Tim.”

A full week later, when Jon saw Martin come back into the shop, he immediately broke out in a cold sweat, and poured double the cream he’d intended to because he couldn’t not watch him walk past the toppings station.

Martin didn’t even look sideways at it, but did seem to be walking with more purpose, catching Jon’s eye before he could look away. Jon shamelessly eavesdropped on him ordering, and heard him speak much more clearly, no questions or apologies in his order. It was the same thing. Jon wanted to ask if he wanted caramel, but Georgie was taking the order, and all the moisture had left Jon’s mouth.

When he sat the drink on the counter, he called out the name for it. This time, Martin didn’t look like he was trying to speak, but he looked bolder. Like he could have spoke, if he wanted to, but he didn’t even try. Just locked eyes with Jon until Jon backed away to start on the next order.

And then, Jon saw him reach out.

_ No. _

Once was an accident. Jon had decided that Martin had probably thought it was hand sanitizer. There was no other explanation. Occam’s razor. He put it from his mind and tried not to think about it again.

He put his thumb on the pump head.

_ Once was an accident. Twice is…. He genuinely wants this. _

What did someone want with a handful of caramel sauce? What was he doing with it? Was he just- eating it off his hand, or wiping it on something, or putting it somewhere, or- or maybe it was a prank, maybe he was going to go shake hands with someone. Ha ha, now your hand is full of caramel sauce, how unpleasant! I dealt with the unpleasantness of getting  _ a handful of caramel sauce _ and walked it here to give you the unpleasantness! Maybe he was using it to attract a dog or something. He probably had a car parked outside with a dog in it that loved caramel. Could dogs eat caramel? Jon wasn’t going to look it up. He had to believe they could.

And there it was. A handful of caramel sauce, casual as you please. He didn’t move in a rush, like he wanted to be out doing whatever it was that one did with a handful of caramel sauce, and again Jon had plenty of time to holler at him, if he wanted to. Jon very much wanted to. But all his thoughts got crowded in the door to his mouth and got stuck on the way out, so when Martin went out the door, Jon had still said nothing.

It kept him up at night. He thought he would call Georgie and ask  _ can you think of any scenario that would require you to get a pump of caramel sauce right into your hand? _ and paced around with his phone in hand, but ended up reading about the molasses flood and how to make homemade caramel and staying up too late in a wiki surfing session.

It became a weekly hell.

Sometimes more than once a week. Martin came in on a Tuesday, and then again on a Friday, and Jon was having a hard time not squeezing the cup in his hand till it spilled when he saw him.

Each time was the same. Eye contact, a slow departure, a single pump of caramel syrup directly into his own hand.

Jon nearly convinced himself it was for a dog- and then one day, when they had rearranged the syrups and Jon didn’t notice they were in different places, he got a handful of chocolate syrup.

It was the same. He just calmly pushed the plunger down fully to get a whole pump worth, and walked out with it in a turned up, slightly cupped palm. Jon wanted to hide from him, start demanding Tim put his drink up and Georgie call his name, but he wanted to know why. He needed to know why.

Martin came in twice in a row, for the first time, and Jon watched him leave, and reach for the pump, and do the deed.

“ _ What _ are you  _ doing _ !?”

Everyone startled slightly, including Jon, which was surprising because it was he who spoke. But now that he’d broken the silence, the suffocating, stunning, horrified wall of silence, it was all rushing out of him. Martin had stopped and turned slightly, holding his medium oatmilk chai latte and his handful of caramel syrup.

“Jon?” Sasha started to say, because of course she was working today- Georgie taking the Admiral to the vet- but he couldn’t stop.

“What are you doing?! Why- What- That’s just- caramel, right  _ into your hand _ ! For what! Why! You can’t have a dog, because you did chocolate once, and it’s not a mistake because you KEEP DOING IT, and you don’t- you- I don’t understand! Why?!” Jon cried, voice too loud, gesturing with his thankfully empty hands. If he’d been holding a drink, surely he would have simply thrown it in the air. “I thought you had a dog, or- or it was a prank, or you thought it was hand sanitizer, or- I don’t know! I don’t-  _ why?! _ ” his voice had reached full volume, which was a very full volume, as Jon had spent some time singing in theater and choir as a child.

“Jon,” Sasha said again, sharply, and he realized the whole cafe had gone dead silent, and everyone was staring at him. Martin looked around, faintly alarmed, but to Jon’s further confusion, he had begun to smile.

“No, it’s fine,” Martin said, voice quiet- quieter even, in the ringing silence after Jon’s yelling. “Maybe just- er-”

“Back room. Don’t touch anything,” Sasha said to Martin as he hurried back to the door she pointed at, everyone watching. Jon went in after him.

“I- er. I didn’t mean… to make you yell.”

Jon blinked at him. “You didn’t, I chose to yell. I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, I just…” He shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, staring at Martin’s shoes. “It’s been haunting me,” he said hoarsely.

“Oh.”

He couldn’t help it. “ _ Why _ ?”

There was that grin again- a little alarmed, looking surprised even at himself, but a little pleased, a little mischievous. “The first day it was sort of an accident. I thought it was hand sanitizer. But then I saw how you were going to say something, and I… I had wanted to talk to you, but I couldn’t. I just- I’m shy, but I can get over it, but sometimes it’s just…. Anyways. I thought,  _ right, since I can’t seem to talk to him… what if I get him to talk to me? _ And then started doing that. And it was kind of funny, because when I left, I could always see you through the window, staring at me like I’d just kicked a puppy. And I knew you were going to have to say something, eventually. So I just waited and kept doing it.” Martin shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Jon stared at him.

“Sorry it’s been haunting you. I hoped you’d think it was funny or something.”

“I’ve been  _ losing sleep _ .”

“Oh. Yeah, I… sorry,” he said again.

“Why did you want to talk to me?”

“I… I’m really sorry, I didn’t think it would escalate to this, I just thought you’d finally ask me when I came up to the counter, or call me out on it, or something. I just… I thought you were cute and wanted to ask you out, but I’m sorry, instead I’ve gone and wasted a lot of stuff and made a mess and a scene and kept you awake at night and you’re just doing your job, I’m sure you hate it when people come in and hit on you because it’s rude and unprofessional and probably technically harassment or something- oh, hell, is this technically harassment? I’m so sorry- I’ll never do it again-”

Jon finally caught up with the conversation and held up a hand. Martin stopped talking immediately.

“You were getting handfuls of caramel sauce. Just to try and get me to talk to you,” Jon said slowly, precisely. Martin nodded. “Because you thought I’m… cute?”

“Yeah. I mean, think- current tense. Sorry, writer, and… I still think you are, and I’m not upset that you yelled.”

Jon put his face in his hands.

“Sorry,” Martin said again. “I’ll… I’ll go-”

“I need to know what kind of person does that.”

“Yeah, no, a dumb harassing one, I’ll-”

“No, I-” Jon let out a breath, dropped his hands from his face, and risked a quick glance at Martin’s eyes. They were clear, innocent, genuinely apologetic. “I need to know what kind of a person does that. I… I want to know more. About you.”

“You…” Martin trailed off. “Do… you need to see my ID?”

“No- I mean… get to know you. Maybe over dinner?”

Martin’s mouth dropped open, and then he shut it. Opened again. “That… that worked?”

“I guess?” Jon was just as baffled as Martin looked.

“I’ve been acting like an idiot for weeks-”

“You’ve been acting like an  _ enigma _ for weeks. A mystery.”

“I’m not very mysterious, don’t get your hopes up-”

“I’ll draw my own conclusions. And I do appreciate you not just asking for my number or hitting on me while I’m working. It was… really idiotic, but also a little brilliant?”

Martin grinned, freckles disappearing under a blush again. “I can accept that more than ‘Martin the mystery’.”

“So… what have you been doing with the caramel?”

“Oh, washing it off as soon as I can. I started carrying napkins and wet wipes.”

“Do you want to wash it off in the sink here?”

“Yeah. Gosh, I’m going to have to remind myself not to do it on the way out now- it’s become like second nature.”

“It’s really weird.”

“It is.”

“Now. Here’s my number.”

**Author's Note:**

> Martin is kind of a little shit. a shy polite lad, but also a little shit.


End file.
